


Making Up The Steps

by Neffectual



Series: 104 Reasons to Stay Alive [18]
Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Dancing, Female Hange Zoë, Jealousy, M/M, Smut, orisor inspired
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-21
Updated: 2014-08-21
Packaged: 2018-02-14 01:34:29
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2173002
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neffectual/pseuds/Neffectual
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It is customary for the Commander and his right-hand man to attend the balls thrown in the capital, amongst all those eligible young ladies and the courtly ideal of love. Afterwards, Levi likes to take all that starch and pomp away, and strip Erwin bare for him. Alternately titled 'Levi Can't Waltz'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Making Up The Steps

**Author's Note:**

> "The problem is not making up the steps but deciding which ones to keep.”  
> ― Mikhail Baryshnikov

The evening begins with Erwin climbing out of the tub, arching his back and tilting his head back, hair too long and trailing down strong muscles. It makes the ladies swoon, and makes Levi want to reach for the scissors. His fingers itch with the urge to move, to hold, to grasp, but he refuses to give Erwin the satisfaction. The bastard knows what he looks like, rising from the water like some resplendent god, like an anatomy drawing, and Levi turns away, so as not to give him the satisfaction. He trains his focus on his own physique in the mirror, tilting his head sideways and checking the starch of his collar. He’s always dressed far too early for these events, as if being ready an hour early could somehow make the whole damnable process be over faster. Erwin, on the other hand, is leisurely, enjoying the chance to be dressed in his finest, to be shown off to all the eligible maidens, to have the dowagers cooing over him and how he’d make a match for their eldest, if she’d only cease being married to that baker she fell for. Levi loses that train of thought when Erwin walks from the bathroom, naked, scrubbing at his hair with a towel, and he cannot help but look; how could he keep his eyes off curved calves, strong thighs, that slim waist, broad shoulders and muscled arms? He is, after all, only human, and Erwin knows exactly what he does to him every time – Levi can still see the outline of ribs, though, and revels in the knowledge that despite the bulk his lover has built out of necessity of the job, there are still ribs and hipbones close to the surface where he sucks bruises into all that pale skin. There is still frailty, still weakness underneath the strength he shows the world. And only Levi gets to see it.

These events bore Levi more than he can say, these pompous balls held in the capital, where the wine flows more easily than conversation, where the women are dressed like the plumage of birds and the men wear dress uniform. The blue makes Erwin’s eyes stand out, he supposes, but there is little more to look at unless he wishes to be propositioned by simpering teenagers, and he has enough of that back in the corps. There are always a few mothers who haven’t yet got the message that he’s not interested in any of their frivolous prodigy, and that there will be two people he is willing to dance with at these preposterous occasions. When he sits alone, the first greets him; Petra is almost noble, after all, and she always steals him for one dance, a simple waltz, but he always stumbles, feet hitting hers, and she retires after that, content to flutter her eyelashes at the men who line the walls, too uncomfortable to ask for a dance when she sits so close to Levi, but wanting, nonetheless.  
Levi wants to tell her that he can waltz, in a fashion, but that the reason he treads on her feet is that he’s never been taught to lead. Erwin knows all the dances; cotillion, quadrille, and has a different girl on his arm for each of them, blues and greens and pinks and lilacs, silks and satins, gloved hands catching on calluses Levi feels when Erwin holds his hips down, when Erwin lifts and spreads him, when they’re standing alone in his rooms, hands clasped and facing each other. Erwin learnt when he was being trained for officer-hood, when he was being trained to be the good little society boy, but Levi’s childhood was more than a series of etiquette lessons. He learnt to waltz two hours before his first one of these balls, in Erwin’s shirt and nothing else, large, warm hands against his skin, guiding him backwards and around, teaching him the steps – and Levi might be a quick study, but he was intelligent enough to let the lesson go on long enough for Erwin to sink to his knees before him, pushing shirttails out of the way and mouthing at his skin, hot, wet kisses and bites that he would feel for days.

When Hanji asks for a dance, Levi can do nothing but agree, because she is so out of place in a gown, a simple, pale green affair, and because she knows him better than he knows himself, at this point. He would trust her to the end of the world, however close that might now be. Hanji steps up to take his hand for the waltz – Levi refuses pair dances, square dances, any of that bullshit which is all about making sure the right girl ends up on the arm of the right man – and leads for him, lets him step backwards and away, her posture stiff and solid, and if she looks over his shoulder at Mike, lounging against the wall as official guard, rather than guest, then he doesn’t say anything. After all, he looks sideways at Erwin, dipping one of the girls, and turns his head away sharply before he sees if the blond goes in for the kiss or not. it means nothing, it should mean nothing, but Levi knows what he wants, and he sets out to get it, and watching someone else press against what is his makes his blood boil.  
“Tonight.” Hanji whispers to him, and she squeezes his hand, letting him calm down. Yes, tonight, tonight when he takes Erwin back to his rooms and strips him out of all that finery, tonight... but not now. He remembers learning to waltz, Erwin’s firm hand against his back, so large, so hot, guiding his every move and always looking at him like he’d swallowed the world. Sometimes Levi wonders if he’s worth that look, if he deserves the hunger and need and love Erwin gives him in every glance, every casual look, in every brush of arm against shoulder. Sometimes it feels like a lot to live up to – but with his Commander’s hand firm and warm against his back, he knows that he can.

Erwin reeks of a dozen different perfumes, and Levi has had half a glass of wine too many to untangle lily-of-the-valley from rose for now, scrabbling at the buttons on the dress uniform jacket like his hands have become claws, like something inhuman, like he can’t wait – because he can’t, too desperate with the wine and the dancing and watching others touch Erwin like they have any right to him. But his hands are grasped in one large one, no pressure there, just a gentle reminder that he is the only one who gets this, the only one who sees this side of Erwin, and the only person who ever will if Levi has his way. He calms a little, lets Erwin ravage his throat, sucking purple-red bruises into his skin that he won’t be able to hide with the cravat, but he can’t care about that now. That’s a problem for tomorrow, and tonight he wants Erwin, all of him, can feel the need rising inside him, making his hands shake in that strong grip, making him tremble.  
“I think you’ve waited long enough.” Erwin whispers, loud in the silence and darkness of his room, and then he’s moving away, Levi letting out a little whine before he can stop himself, biting at his lip to stop any more sound escaping. He wants, craves, has spent the whole night watching and needing – but there is one more thing he wants before he lets Erwin have what he wants.  
“May I have this dance?” he asks, hand outstretched, and Erwin turns back to him. They’re both a mess, shirts half-undone, bruises mottling Levi’s throat, a flush high on Erwin’s cheeks, “Dance with me.”  
Erwin puts down his tie and shrugs out of his jacket, shirt-seams bulging where he’s put on muscle since the last one of these affairs, and takes the offered hand, stepping close.  
“There’s no music.” he rasps, sliding his hand around to Levi’s waist, and that’s what Levi’s wanted all night, that hot, heavy press of fingers which seem to burn through the layers of clothing between them.  
“You make your own.” Levi says, plainly, gripping Erwin’s shoulder, bringing them into closed position, into body contact, before looking up to meet those bright blue eyes. There’s hunger there, too, but Erwin will let him have this anyway, Levi realises, and is grateful.

It takes only a few turns around the room before Levi finds himself backed up against the bed, and lets himself fall back against the mattress, Erwin tall and broad above him, blocking out what little light the moon can spare for this room. He bends down for a kiss, and Levi arches up, begging to be devoured, to be rewarded for waiting so long, for watching those hands, those easy smiles, watching everyone demand a piece of his lover whilst he sat and waited for his turn. But the dance cards are empty now, and the music has stopped, and all he can hear is the thunder of his heart in his own ears as Erwin’s fingers deftly strip him, pausing only long enough to almost lift him, in order to get Levi naked as quickly as possible. Erwin’s still mostly dressed as he spreads Levi’s legs, mouthing up one slim thigh until he can bite marks at the crease where leg meets groin, making Levi shake and cry out. Levi pushes him back, feeling the cloth of the dress shirt tear under his grasping hands, but he doesn’t care anymore, wants nothing between them anymore, after hours of space and giggling society girls getting in the way. Erwin steps back to hurriedly strip himself, and Levi reaches for the oil, is working the stopper frantically before the bottle is whisked out of his hands and Erwin’s mouth is back against him, licking in, and Levi spreads his legs further, knowing that the foreplay won’t last long after a tedious night of dancing. True to form, Erwin is over-eager, stretching him too rapidly, but Levi won’t complain about the bruises, won’t complain tomorrow when he can feel it – the soft beds of the capital are a luxury, and they don’t have to travel for another two days. He can cope with a little roughness as long as it gets Erwin inside him as soon as possible, because he is tired of just watching. In the morning, Erwin will worship him, they’ll take their time, tomorrow Erwin’s hand won’t be on his wrists as he presses in, Levi’s head won’t be thrown back, tendons standing out in sharp relief along his slim neck, and Erwin will apologise for every tooth-mark left in his shoulders, but now, tonight, there is nothing but the sound of harsh breaths between them and the slap of skin on skin as Erwin pounds into him, the novelty of a lover he can bend in half never seeming to wear off. It’s over too quickly, after a night of restraint, and Erwin collapses over him, and Levi lets his eyes shut, just for a moment, to just have this, for a second or two, before Erwin pulls out and there’s nothing but the slow dribble of come easing out of him, and Erwin’s breath on the top of his head. The blond leans in and kisses him, softly, loving, the need for passion to be violent over.  
“One day.” he says, and Levi hears the unspoken words. One day, we’ll dance together, one day, we’ll not be improper if we’re seen to look at each other, or if you want to kiss me in the yard. One day, we’ll be free of all this pomp and circumstance.  
Levi kisses him back, and for a second, lets himself believe.

**Author's Note:**

> This may have been written to a very strange combination of The Civil Wars, Keaton Henson, and Lily Allen. You can't prove I wrote smut to 'L8 Cmmr'. You can't prove anything.


End file.
